The Fight in the East
by Swimming320
Summary: A series of 4 one-shots, concerning Prussia and Germany's Fight against Russia on the Eastern Front of WW2, Stalingrad to Berlin. Violent and realistic to some degree. Rated M to be safe.
1. Chapter 1

Author's Note: Hello, Everyone! This will be a muti-chaptered story of 4 related one-shots about the Hetalia characters fighting on the Eastern Front during WW2. Warnings for character death(s) and blood. Constructive criticism and reviews are appreciated, I do not own Hetalia: Axis Powers. Please enjoy!

Blood in the Street

The bodies lay on the street, as combat raged over them.

The Russian soldiers were fast in hand-to-hand combat. Gilbert was faster.

Ludwig laughed at him for using what the younger German called a "primitive" weapon to fight. In truth, he preferred the sword to the guns and genades of the era. It had been with him since his youth, enduring countless clashes with Prussia's enemies, usually having to fend off a frying pan.

That was something Gilbert prided himself on: he was the best swordsman among the nations. Here, among the war-torn streets, it was very useful.

Leading his troops, he ducked and weaved among the fighting, wielding his broadsword with ease as the Waffen-SS clashed with the Red Army in Stalingrad.

Again.

For 7 months now, this had been the main battleground of the eastern front. A German army, and a Russian Army. Locked into a city and left to fight until only one would be left.

It had been street-to-street, house-to-house, room-to-room combat. The thundering from above as the Luffwaffe pounded the city day and night was broken only by the chatter of machine guns and whine of sniper bullets.

Needless to say, Prussia was feeling less than Awesome today.

Still, Ludwig's beloved Reich would prevail here, it was just a matter of willpower to fight. Ivan could send all the soldiers he wanted; the German brothers would still bleed his country dry.

Speaking of Russia, Gilbert had not yet seen him. He was probably cowering up in Moscow, like the Soviet bastard he was.

These thoughts distracted Gilbert enough that a mangy soldier clipped him with a pistol. Kicking the gun out of the man's hand, Gilbert spun and sent the Russian's head flying into space.

The city should have been easy to occupy and possess, yet Ivan was putting up a tremedous fight. Verdammnt, why couldn't he just give in and make things easier for everyone?

Gilbert had seen thousands of troops die by his side, but this war was different. The pain, and the carnage, it made him feel.

With a final yell, the Germans charged, scattering among the retreating Russian soldiers. Another street in German hands.

Wiping the blood off of his sword, Prussia gazed around. Darkness was beginning to fall. The light of fires burning in buildings revealed the countless dead, the once-pristine snow now a rust, a blight on the land.

A squad of SS walked up the avenue, executing any wounded Russians they found. No quarter in this war.

As the yellow speck dove and landed on his shoulder, Gilbert felt hollow as he watched the death and destruction. Was this worth it?

Of course, to kill the Russian. Kill the Russian. Kill the Russian.

Yes.

It would all be worth it then, when Russia was dead and he could have peace, which would be soon.

Gazing at the bodies, a grin spread over Prussia's face, even as tears began to roll down his cheeks. He looked again to the burning houses, to the blood, to the men fallen in the snow.

They would win. Of course.

Laughing, the awesome nation marched off as it began to snow.


	2. Chapter 2

Last Stand of the East

by ~Swimming320

Author's Note: Here is chapter two, taking place much later after Stalingrad. This is the confrontation between Prussia and Russia. Please enjoy, constructive criticism is wanted and appreciated. I do not own Hetalia or any of the characters.

Last Stand of the East

Ivan had to admit, Prussia put up a better fight than he had expected.

Yes, a genuine sense of admiration had briefly flared up in the Russian's heart when he and his Red Army advance squad had entered the German hamlet to find Gilbert waiting for them. Dressed in a blood-covered SS uniform, surrounded by the dead bodies of his men, the Prussian still had a look of royalty as his eyes met Ivan's.

He had wondered when this battle would occur. Prussia was a hotblooded nation, and a confrontation between him and Ivan was inevitable. the Wehrmacht had been driven back out of East Germany, but Gilbert wouldn't leave his people without a fight.

Drawing a machete in one hand and clutching his iron pipe in the other, the tall Russian ordered his squad to report back to the main army. Gilbert holstered his pistol as he drew out his German broadsword, and the two foes' battle was met.

Their fight was long and brutal, disturbing the rubble and adding to the blood on the ground. Contrary to character Gilbert remained silent, keeping only a look of pure determination on his face. Even though Ivan was fighting a war, Prussia still had centuries of experience and both were wounded.

Backed into a corner, exhausted and weary, Prussia gave every ounce of energy into the fight. Ducking under a blow from the pipe, he sliced the tip off of the blood stained pink scarf.

In the end however, Russia's vengeance would not be stopped. Bloodied and battered, Gilbert lay on the ground, his sword snapped in half beside him.

Leaning on a cracked rifle due to a sword thrust through the side, Ivan laughed as he advanced on the broken former country.

Even as Russia towered over him, Gilbert still found the strength to resist. Drawing a dagger engraved with the Iron Cross, he plunged it into Ivan's ankle with a snarl.

Russia only laughed harder.

Ivan smashed his pipe into Prussia's chest hearing the ribs break as blood bubbled up, marring the albino's white lips.

"How does it feel, Prussia, to know that you have lost everything?" Ivan inquired almost casually, smiling as Gilbert coughed up blood. "To know that your people will suffer, that your country will be destroyed and that your brother will be broken?"

Spitting blood into Ivan's face, Gilbert hissed, "Ludwig will triumph over you yet, Bolshevik dog. His Reich will succeed."

Still smiling as he wiped the blood off with his scarf, Ivan placed his foot on Prussia's chest and pressed down, relishing the cracks and breaks. "The Third Reich is over, and I will be victorious. Germany will fall before the Red Army"

"I should have killed you when I had the chance." The red eyes glared at the Russian.

"Yes, you should have." For an instant, Prussia caught a glimpse of the madness and chaos behind those eyes, a glimpse of the insane mind that was Soviet Russia.

Both were silent then for a few minutes, until Ivan chuckled darkly.

Leaning in close to the broken Nation's face, Ivan savored the moment, his eyes never leaving Gilbert's as he finally asked, "Now you become one with Russia, da?"

Prussia began to laugh, his voice growing higher and higher as blood poured out of his mouth. Summoning the last of his strength Gilbert smashed a fist into Ivan's face as he dragged himself to his feet.

Cutting his hand on the broken blade as he grasped it, Prussia stared at Ivan and gave his response.

"No."

Even as the large country charged, Gilbert slashed the blade across his own throat, then stabbed it into the bloody mess of his heart. He fell backwards with a smile on his face, blood spurting into the dank air.

Russia saw this, and laughed.

Long after the Nation had left to report to his commander, a small speck of yellow feathers flew over Berlin, crying out its pain and grief.


	3. Chapter 3

Author's note: The 3rd one-shot, focusing on Germany during the Battle of Berlin. I do not own Hetalia. Please enjoy, constructive criticism is appreciated!

West Prepares to Fall

Ludwig straightened his Iron Cross carefully, nodded in approval at the mirror, and decided he was ready to die.

Date: May 1st, 1945

The reports were more panicked, bearing worse news every hour. The Red Army was advancing rapidly, not without great loss, but the conclusion was clear, they would be overrun very soon.

Location: Berlin, Germany

The reports were not surprising given the status of Ludwig's "troops." Young boys, old men, and war-weary troops comprised the majority of Germany's armed forces now. Not to mention, HE would be leading the attacking Soviet army.

His brother was dead, his lover had abandoned him for the allies, and his country was ruined. Yet Germany fought on.

He fought because he would not give Ivan the satisfaction of signing a treaty.

Not until every German man, woman, and child had fought to the last breath. Not until every German city had been reduced to rubble. Not until Ludwig had given every drop of blood, every ounce of energy in his body to fighting the Soviet.

He strode out the the small antechamber to survey his troops, the last one fighting for the Reich. Face stared back at Ludwig, eyes meeting his as the men silently stood to attention. Fear, rage, cowardice, courage, all looked at him.

They would defend the Reichstag, the government parliament building, as they had done for the past 2 days. By Midnight tonight, none of the 300-odd men under his command would still breathe.

They knew that.

He knew, before the night was done, that his final Confrontation with Ivan would be over. They had fought small skirmishes and seen each other countless times in the 3 years prior. Stalingrad, Kursk, Seelow. He couldn't believe this uncivilized Bolshevik could have gotten the best of Germany.

Looking at his assembled troops, Ludwig spoke. "Gentlemen, we are the last line of defense for Germany. Today, you all will fall. There is no escape, except into the arms of death. Several of the younger men looked scared as they stood there. Ludwig offered a sad, yet comforting smile as he continued.

"If we give in to the Russians, then Germany will fall. Therefore, we shall not give in. Will you all cower in the rubble like dogs waiting to be shot? Or will you be men, fighting to the last for the Fatherland?"

Now grim determination showed on the faces of his troops. Even on the edge of defeat, Ludwig felt proud. The people of Germany were still strong, they would give their lives for the Reich, as was expected.

"Now then, w-" His voice cracked as the Red Army began its artillery barrage, rockets streaking through the air, destroying buildings, people, anything in their path. HIS buildings, HIS people were once more fighting for existence itself. He composed himself shaking off the pain and focusing on his duty.

Steeling himself, knowing that an assault on the Reichstag was imminent, Ludwig barked out orders to the troops.

"Get into your defense positions! Secure the Machine Gun Nests and the fallback points! Flammenwerfer troops, get to the front lines! Make them pay for every inch!"

Ludwig watched the troops scurry off, the boys, the grandfathers, this was what it had come to. He smiled again.

So be it.

Soon the Russians would come, and Ivan would be leading them, out for his demented vengeance and Ludwig's world would end. He checked his ammo, made sure the cyanide pill was secure, got ready to move with his men to combat.

Looking in a shattered mirror, he made sure his hair was perfect, not a single blond filament out of place.

After all, he wanted to look his best on the day that he would die.


	4. Chapter 4

Author's Note: here we are at the end of the battle of Berlin, the final fight between Russia and Germany. I do not own Hetalia, Reviews and Criticisms are appreciated. Enjoy!

The End in Berlin

Ivan stumbled towards the edge of eternity, focused entirely on the figure standing before him.

Like his brother, Germany stood in a tattered, blood soaked uniform, his weapons since discarded.

Usually the nations could never be harmed by ordinary humans, but not in this war. Ludwig's men were fighting to the last man for Germany's failed empire. The Red Army fought, room-to-room, through the Reichstag.

Now, the Germans were dead, and Ludwig's reckoning was at hand.

The Swastika fluttering above them, the glare of Russian rockets illuminating the smokey sky, the two nations stood, alone on the precipice.

So they stood, not as Germany and Russia, but as Ivan and Ludwig.

Some part of Ivan's shattered mind wondered what Italy would think, if he could see his lover now.

Blonde hair was dyed red, literal chunks of flesh torn from Ludwig's body, a bleeding slash visible on his chest through the ripped fabric.

But his eyes...

Ludwig's eyes were focused only on Ivan, and in them the Russian could see every facet of the Nazi Empire, and the insanity of its death. Burning skies, thousands of dead, the gates of the camps.

Ivan already knew the horrors his own eyes contained, and some part of his mind recoiled from it, seeking love and friendship.

Not today.

Pipe thrown aside, scarf ripped off, Ivan stepped forward as Ludwig charged. There would be no weapons today.

Fighting through his grievious injuries, Ludwig delivered a series of punches to Ivan's stomach, eyes blazing as Nazi Germany fought for its Survival.

Ivan knew only too well how dangerous a cornered animal could be.

Still he laughed as German nails drew lines of crimson life down his cheek, ignoring the pain, delivering a kick to Ludwig's chest; something cracked.

Blood foamig past his lips, the German and the Russia fought across the rooftop.

Ivan's purple aura was tinged with red as he smashed Ludwig's face into a stone column. Mother Russia was strong.

Laughing as his opponent broke one of his ribs, Ivan picked up the smaller man and threw him at the base of his damned swastika, still fluttering in the grey.

The laughing stopped when Ludwig picked up a pistol and shot Ivan.

Feeling the bullet go through his stomach, looking down at his blood, Ivan heard the artillary fire.

And Laughed.

Turning back to the German, as Ivan felt the bloodlust grow in him, for the first time, he thought he saw a spark of fear in those eyes, the realization that this was over.

Picking up the blonde-haired man, Ivan grasped the throat and squeezed, red running down his fingers, crushing the facist Reich.

Dropping the man, Ivan ran to the flag, drawing a knife. Once the red fabric was replaced, the world would know the end of the Nazi Regime

As the knife severed the rope holding the banner aloft, Ludwig tackled Ivan, sending them into eternity.

Ripping the knife from Ivan's hand, the cackling German plunged it into the Russian's body again and again and again and again and agai-

Crunch.

As he stood, clutching his side, Russia stared at the fallen nation as the banner of red, white, and black floated down, almost gently, to cover Germany.

Russia did not laugh.

Vengeance was his, he had shown the world the strength of Russia and won.

Russia could not laugh.

Lighting a match and tossing it, the nation walked away, as the sounds of guns faded and a small yellow speck circled in the smoke.


End file.
